


On Equal Ground

by DarthSuki



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Comfort, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Gen, In which X'rhun sees the WoL as an equal and a person, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 22:25:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19710697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthSuki/pseuds/DarthSuki
Summary: “…Please do not cut yourself down, warrior,” X’rhun finally whispers. “There is a great many people who aspire to be but half the hero you are.”There is a gentle seriousness in the sound of his words, as if speaking to you a truth that is hard to believe or comprehend. Perhaps they are in a form, a fact that you’ve largely decided to ignore, gone numb in the months where such praise was spoken in mystical awe than of genuine appreciation.He sees beyond your title, and that is the greatest respect anyone can give you.





	On Equal Ground

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a request made on my FFXIV writing blog. If you would like to submit a request or check out my other related work, [go check it out here!](https://finalfantasyxivwritings.tumblr.com/)

If you had to describe the experience of learning red magic with but one word, you feel the most accurate may very well be ‘enlightening’. There is much to the skill than one might assume, so deep in its complexity that to learn red magic in itself is analogous to learning an entirely new form of art: breathtaking when observed of a trained expert, but leaving the amateur daunted and in broken spirits ere the end of the first week of attempt.

If it wasn’t for the fact that your mentor was such a patient man, you doubted that your patience would have long-since fizzled out. It was hard enough to learn but one combative skill; to learn a second one from scratch might have seemed near-impossible to most people.

But you weren’t _most people_.

“I’d liken to say your sense of balance is fairing much better,” the Seeker says in barely-hidden delight, his voice as warm as the sunlight shining high above the two of you. “Did you see yourself drawing upon your ranged spelled easier than before?”

You take a moment to listen to him genuinely, letting your arms drop as the ache of hours-long training settles into your muscles. Truthfully you hadn’t noticed anything, not beyond the pain and exhaustion at least, and that had been a prevalent issue since the moment that the master red mage had placed the ruby soulstone into your palm.

So you shake your head.

“I mean, my aether seems to stretch a bit longer before I have to rely on the rapier solely to attack,” There’s a shrug to your shoulders as you place the sword back at your hip, keeping the crystal yet hovering over your palm. “-but that’s it, really.”

Though you were familiar enough in the heat of battle, the rapier felt little more than a clumsy piece of pointed metal. Where you had honed your mind and body to see one weapon as an extension of yourself, the careful tool of the red mage seemed nearly alienating–and that’s not even with the additional crystal balanced precariously above your opposite, outstretched palm, with it’s aetheric charge constantly tickling against your skin.

Black and white. Heal and harm. Melee and ranged. The art of the red mage seemed in itself a quandary, a twist of opposites into a form of combat all on its own–and one far different than merely combining the most common spells for the two disciplines of magic. In the same way that thread could be woven into a grand tapestry, so too was the skills of the red mage.

Exhausting. Painful. Confusing.

All things considered, it wasn’t as if your teacher was pushing you past your limits. X’rhun Tia was quite the gentleman in as much stature as in personality; kind, considerate, and happy to let you make mistakes and learn from them without the fear of failure. Considering that you had been used to the weight of the world upon your shoulders as the Warrior of Light, it was nice to feel _allowed_ to be new to the skill. To be ignorant. To learn something.

It means a lot to you.

As if on queue, you hear X’rhun’s footsteps get nearer, signaling the end of the sparring session if at least so that you can catch your breath.

You raise your eyes up to the man just as he’s approaching you, hands on his hips and a smile upon his face that looks as natural as the sunshine–and just as warming to your cheeks.

“Don’t give yourself so little worth.” 

For a mentor, X’rhun always seems to offer more compliments than critique–or perhaps the latter is simply woven to delicately that you’re hard-pressed to distinguish the two.

“We oft realize changes when they are happening to ourselves,” X’rhun steps closer to you, close enough that he’s able to reach out a hand over your aether crystal yet held in front of you. It gently glows a dull red in response. “…You’re learning to balance your skills without realizing it. The greater balance you achieve, the more you will be able to ask of yourself in battle before your reserves run dry.”

“I think you’re just being too nice to me,” you retort, though the words are spoken gently. “You’re not allowed to do that, because that display of mine was _atrocious_ compared to what I _should_ be able to do.”

X’rhun tilts his head in such a way that the light is able to play ever so delicately across his icy gaze. Even under the hooded shadow of his broad-rimmed hat, you can see just how sharp the lines in his face are; there are but a couple lines gained from age alone, but it doesn’t discount the fact that the Seeker is a very charming, handsome man.

Sometimes you notice it a little _too_ well.

X’rhun doesn’t seem to notice your lingering attention over his face. He merely laughs, and the sound is pleasant to your tired ears. It rolls through the air like a distant waterfall–perhaps a sound that you’d almost call a purr if you had the slightest more bravery to put words to the thought.

“Am I truly too kind?” the man asks, tone gentle. “Not even the most powerful warriors are perfect at all that they try–but to make the _attempt_ , to take up a skill you know will be difficult and you but give your greatest willpower for it…Now that is a feat of strength few people carry within them.”

X’rhun closes his eyes. A soft sigh ghosts over his lips just as the breeze picks up around the two of you, swirling up into the vast, open blue sky of Southern Thanalan. 

“…I greatly respect you, if I’m being an honest man.”

You feel him reach a hand out and lay it on your shoulder; the weight is comforting, though you can’t meet the man’s gaze for more than a few idle moments when you realize how those icy blues seem but to glow in the shadow of his hat, or how his smile seems to match the warmth that blooms inside of your chest.

“You are more amazing than you give yourself credit,” he says. “With one who already has the weight of Eorzea upon their shoulders, the fact you are yet so willing to learn a challenging new skill is but proof of your fortitude and strength of will.” 

His hand presses harder still over your shoulder, firm but not painful. There’s but a breath of silence, though the air is far from empty.

“…Please do not cut yourself down, warrior,” X’rhun finally whispers. “There is a great many people who aspire to be but half the hero you are.” 

There is a gentle seriousness in the sound of his words, as if speaking to you a truth that is hard to believe or comprehend. Perhaps they are in a form, a fact that you’ve largely decided to ignore, gone numb in the months where such praise was spoken in mystical awe than of genuine appreciation.

He sees beyond your title, and that is the greatest respect anyone can give you.

So you smile. You smile wide and warm and stupid, until your face hurts and your chest aches, until you nearly feel tears gather at the corner of your eyes. It’s silly how happy the words make you feel. They sound genuine. Warm. Honest.

They come from a man who too has felt guilt and shame upon his shoulders–though he may not completely understand the way the world presses down around you (nobody ever might) the fact that he makes no attempt to idolize you, the fact that he is so bluntly _honest_ in his feelings as a mentor, it…

Well, you do wind up crying, but only a little bit. You feel words bubble up to your lips and spring forth before you can stop them, if only because you don’t have a filter for the sort of mirth that comes to you so rarely.

“You’re a wonderful man yourself Rhun,” your words are nearly laughter, and you make no motion to try and remove the Seeker’s hands from your shoulders–they’re too comforting a pressure. “I appreciate being seen as an equal than as an idol.”

A moment passes. It’s not as if there’s a particularly long pause in the conversation, nor as if you suddenly feel a shift in the air between you. It’s simply a moment that passes, a thought that clicks in your head--and suddenly your eyes are open and looking forward and meeting an icy-blue gaze that looks at you with _wonder_.

For a moment, X’rhun looks many years younger.

And then he smiles, so much that the expression looks about as happy as you felt but several breaths before.

“Well, I can’t remember the last time someone put up with my company enough to call me by my name.”

It takes a few moments for his words to click, to settle into your brain deep enough that their meaning comes to you. It takes that long for you to realize that, while speaking, you had called him by his name--no marker on the front. It’s meaningful, and it’s by no slip of the tongue either; not one that you didn’t in some way want to make in the first place.

But then again, your thoughts seem to be your worst enemies in general.

It’s a thing of respect and closeness to refer to Seekers without the prefix of their tribe hanging upon their first name. It’s often something shared between friends and family, a step more intimate than a mere nickname. Though you would have felt nervous about using it so brazenly towards a man who could have called himself only your mentor, he seems so very _happy_ about it.

He’s beaming, really.

So all you can do is, in the moment, feel happy in return.

“I can’t remember the last time someone remembered there's a person behind the title,” you say, trying to match his words. “So...that wasn’t....that wasn’t rude right? To call you that?”

“Far from it,” X’rhun says with a quirked brow, taking a step back but letting his hand linger for a moment longer than it needed to upon your shoulder. “ ‘tis a natural part of growing close. Though I may be your mentor in the art of red magic, our bond is yet as equals, and I would have you see me no other way.”

A chuckle comes to your lips, and amusement shortly thereafter.

“So does that mean you’ll go easier on me next time we spar?”

“Not for a moment,” X’rhun scoffs, then turns on his heel to begin walking towards a tree with a promising amount of shade to settle under for a while. “When we spar you are but a fledgling red mage before my eyes. I will ensure that you are allowed to make every mistake with honesty and nothing else weighing upon your shoulders. Not as a Warrior of Light, but as a friend.”

You watch the man eventually stop beneath the shade of a lone tree, but feeble against the rocky landscape. You watch as he takes off his hat, leans back against the trunk, and settles into a comfortable position. It’s only when the Seeker’s eyes turn towards you that you’re caught at last out of your thoughts--icy blue glinting beneath the shade.

A break amidst the sparring.

While you greatly appreciate the ability to sit down and rest for a while from the ache lingering in your body, it’s the company that really brings a smile to your lips and a grateful warmth to your heart.

You couldn’t ask for any better.


End file.
